


slow dance

by localswordlesbian



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Dancing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No beta we kayak like Tim, Sad, Sad Ending, Slow Dancing, The Magnus Archives Season 3, and he misses martin, jon is in america, jon realizes his feelings for martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29457267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localswordlesbian/pseuds/localswordlesbian
Summary: Jon's trip to America has left him lonelier than he expected. One phone call away, Martin is feeling the same. They decide to get to know each other through music, and Jon makes a long-overdue discovery.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	slow dance

Jon stared down at his phone, at the number he’d punched in there nearly twenty minutes ago, staring at the giant green call button as though it were a particularly gross spider. His finger hovered over the button, urging him to simply press it, but something in his gut stopped him each time he tried.

Groaning loudly, Jon tumbled backwards onto the massive hotel bed, covering his eyes with his hands.  _ Just call him _ , he chided himself.  _ What’s the worst that could happen? _

He immediately regretted posing himself that particular question, because as soon as he did his mind was bombarded with all the ways it  _ could _ , potentially, go wrong. He might be busy, might not want to talk to him. Might be angry at him for calling, telling him to just leave him alone already.

“Ugh,” Jon muttered, rubbing his eyes, his hands brushing against the rough stubble on his face – he hadn’t shaved in a few days, too exhausted and busy to bother. He hadn’t come to America to be a tourist, to relax, but he hadn’t expected his mission to take quite this much out of him.

What he wanted right now, more than anything, was to hear a familiar voice. One particular familiar voice.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Jon launched himself across the bed and slammed his finger onto the call button.

Jon’s heart pounded as the phone rang, wondering whether anyone would be on the other end, whether he’d have built up all this anxiety for nothing, whether–

“Hello?”

Jon sat up at the sound of the familiar, sleepy voice. “Ah, hello. Did I wake you?”

“No, I was just reading,” Martin assured him, and Jon sighed with relief. “How are you? Is it late in America?”

“A bit, it’s evening. Oh god, it must be past midnight in England. Why are you up?”

Martin paused. “I told you, I was reading. Must have lost track of time.”

His voice, that high-pitched lilt that only appeared when he was being dishonest, gave him away. “Martin.”

Martin sighed. “Yeah, okay, I was asleep. But in my defense I fell asleep reading, so it wasn’t technically a lie.”

Jon laughed, an exhausted sound that emerged from his chest. “That’s good to hear,” he teased, and Martin laughed. Jon felt the smile fight to stay on his face at the sound, that sound of joy, however brief. “How are things?”

“Oh, you know how things get around here. Spooky shit, and all that.”

Jon snorted. “Yes, I suppose ‘spooky shit’ would be one way of putting it.”

He could hear Martin’s grin through the phone, along with his footsteps as he, presumably, walked through his flat. “Not much has changed. Though,” his voice quieted to a whisper. “Tim’s been… getting worse.”

Jon felt a twist of guilt in his chest. “I–I’m sorry.”

Martin sighed. “I just wish I knew how to help him. After his statement, hearing about his brother… I just wish there was something I could _ do _ .”

“You are doing something,” Jon tried to assure him, standing up off the bed and beginning to pace in aimless circles around his hotel room. “I– I’m going to figure out how to stop the Unknowing, then hopefully… hopefully he can have some peace of mind.”

Martin exhaled. “Yeah, I know.” There was a pause as neither of them said anything, Jon listening to the sounds of Martin’s shuffling footsteps and the telltale static of a weak cell connection. “Jon?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you call?”

Jon blinked, stopping his pacing and simply standing at the foot of his bed, one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other dangling limply by his side. “I–what do you mean?”

Martin sighed. “I just– I somehow get the feeling you didn’t call me just to check up. You could’ve texted to do that, and I could have given you the answer just as easily. So why the call? And why call me?”

Jon considered his question. He knew exactly why he’d called, knew exactly why this particular number had sat typed into his phone for nearly half an hour before he worked up the nerve to actually call. He didn’t know if he could tell Martin any of this, he wasn’t sure how much he was willing to share, didn’t know if Martin felt–

“Jon?”

“Because I miss you,” he replied plainly.

A beat. “Oh.” Another beat. Then, quietly, “I miss you too.”

They stood there, each on opposite ends of a massive ocean, connected by technology and a shared longing that tugged at both of their hearts, that neither could do anything about. “What’s your favourite song?”

Martin sputtered for a second. “I–what?”

Jon could feel his face heat up, wondering why he was even asking him these questions. “I suppose it’s just something I don’t know about you. Something I’d like to know.” He paused. “You do have a favourite song, right?”

“Christ, I mean, yeah? It changes every few months, and sort of depends on what mood I’m in, really, so–”

“Your favourite song now, then. Whatever you’re in the mood for right now.”

Martin paused. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I won’t.”

“Slow Dance by Saint Motel.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

Martin laughed under his breath. “Yeah, I didn’t think you would have. What do you listen to, anyway? Classical music?”

Jon sputtered. “Martin, we are the same age!”

Martin laughed, a loud, genuine laugh, a sound Jon rarely heard but when he did, it sent his heart soaring. “Sorry, sorry. You should’ve heard yourself just there – I can perfectly picture your facial expression.”

Jon pouted. “Well, it’s true. I don’t know, I suppose I’ve never put much thought into curating a music taste of my own, simply preferring to listen to whatever other people recommend to me.”

Martin hummed. “I think you’d like this song.”

Jon hummed in response. “I’ll give it a listen.”

They stayed on the line in silence for a few more minutes, listening to each other breathe. It was odd, Jon thought, that he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with pointless words. The two of them could simply  _ be _ – and that was something he missed.

“I should probably be getting to bed,” Martin eventually said. “It is late here, after all.”

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry.”

Martin chuckled. “Don’t be. It was really nice to hear your voice.”

A lump formed in Jon’s throat. “I– thank you, Martin. I liked hearing your voice, too.”

He could hear the smile in Martin’s voice before he hung up. “Goodnight, Jon.”

“Goodnight, Martin.”

“Hello?”

“Hello again.”

Martin chuckled. “How are your adventures in the great Land of the Free? Done any sightseeing?”

Jon let out a tired laugh. “No, afraid not. Haven’t had the time nor the energy for it, if I’m being honest.”

Martin hummed. “Yeah, it’s been tiring here too. Elias has me reading statements while you’re gone, and it’s unpleasant to say the least. I don’t know how you do it, honestly.”

Jon let out a dry, humorous laugh. “Not easily. I’m sorry you have to do them.” Jon wished he could express just how deeply it hurt him that Martin had to suffer through recording the statements – a pain that drove deep into him, a corkscrew to his gut, something that couldn’t easily be removed or remedied. He felt it in his bones, the longing to return home, to protect Martin.

“It’s okay. Gives me something to do, at least.”

They lapsed into silence, as they often seemed to do. “I listened to the song you told me about.”

Jon could once again hear Martin’s smile. “What did you think?”

“It was– it was very you.”

“Meaning?”

Jon took a moment to consider how to put into words how he felt when he listened to Slow Dance. “It felt like, ah, longing? Like the ache to hold someone close to you, to feel protected. Or like you’re protecting someone.”

Martin was silent for a long moment, long enough that Jon worried that he’d overstepped. He was about to speak, an apology on the tip of his tongue, when Martin spoke up. “Yeah, that is how that song feels. To me at least.”

“I’d like to dance to it someday. I think that would be nice.”

Martin exhaled a laugh. “Yeah, me too.”

“We could dance to it now.”

“Now? We’re on different continents, Jon.”

“I know, but–” He felt his face heating. “Perhaps it could help us feel closer to each other.” He’d felt something missing from him, ever since he’d fled the Institute after Leitner’s murder, ever since he’d come to America in a desperate search for answers on how to save them all.

He missed Martin. He missed Martin so much it hurt, like an ache that settled deep in his bones, an old bruise that never healed, a sprained ankle that never felt the same. He felt it gnawing at him when he ate alone, when he passed by a person who, perhaps, at a certain specific angle, could have looked like the man he knew was so far from him. He didn’t particularly want to return to England – he wanted to return to Martin, to the man who made him feel human throughout all of this.

“Alright. Let’s do it.”

Jon couldn't resist smiling as he set his phone on the bed, putting it on speaker. He waited, and soon the distorted sounds of Slow Dance poured through the tinny speakers and into Jon’s ears. He stood, feeling more than a little ridiculous as he held his hands out as though he were holding them on Martin’s shoulders.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Jon began to sway, taking small steps as the music continued to pour through his phone.  _ I could be your best friend; I could be your centrepiece; I could be your soulmate; I could be your everything. _

“Ow, you stepped on my foot!” Martin’s voice came through the phone, ringing with laughter.

Jon burst out laughing, and Martin joined him as the song continued to play.  _ You know I’m waiting for that slow dance; So I can feel your arms around me; Wait til’ the music turns to romance; Go tell that DJ that he owes me. _ They laughed and they laughed, thousands of kilometers apart and plagued by threats more terrifying than they could have ever perhaps imagined before, and they were laughing as they pretended to dance together, separated by the continents but brought together by this music and this string that tugged on Jon’s heart whenever he heard Martin’s voice, Martin's laugh, Martin’s name.  _ There’s no doubt about it; It’s something magical; Feeling our surroundings; And time is slowing down for us _ .

It was at that moment, as their laughter died down and Jon collapsed onto the bed, listening to the music and Martin’s breath travel through the receiver, that Jon realized that Martin was in love with him. The tea, yes, and the concern, the conversations, their easy rhythm they’d had since the moment they first kindled a friendship, those were signs that Jon had missed, been missing for years.

But this, the music, this song, that  _ this  _ was Martin’s current favourite song, this song about soulmates and love and romance, of wanting to hold someone close to you and not let go for a long, long time – it meant something.

Jon could feel the ache like his ribs were compressing in on themselves, crushing his heart. Martin was in love with him. He was in love with Martin.

He was in love. And of course he came to this realization as soon as he was too far away from him to do anything about it. As soon as they were about to begin setting up for a mission that could change everything.

They stayed on the phone for hours more, and the words of that song played through Jon’s head the entire time. He could hear the music behind Martin’s words, accompanying his voice as that familiar tone drove that stake of longing deeper and deeper into Jon’s chest.

He would not fail. He would stop the Unknowing.

He would do this right. Then he would tell Martin how he felt. Tell him he was in love with him.

“I should go to bed,” Martin said after a while. “It’s getting pretty late.”

“Yes, get some rest.”

“Goodnight, Jon.”

“Goodnight, Martin.”  _ I love you _ , was what he didn’t say. Not yet.

There would be time.

**Author's Note:**

> shay gave me the idea for this fic and i just HAD to write it immediately. shay if you're reading this ily <3  
> this is a lot angstier and sadder than my other fics but i'm really proud of it!  
> thank you to everyone who reads, comments, and leaves kudos! y'all make my day and i am giving you a little smooch on the head (if u want it)


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